Symbiosis
by projectoverlord
Summary: A series in which the Avengers come to realise they've found their place in the world.
1. Tony Stark

Steve leans back; feels the glass panel press against his spine. Tony's a few feet away, flat on his back. He's not sleeping, but his eyes are closed. A deep breath pulls through Steve, the night air spreads across his tongue. The two of them have made a habit of this. Lying out on the tower's walkway, exposed to the elements. Just them; the other Avengers have all retired to their rooms. Steve enjoys their company, but part of him enjoys this more. It's nice to be able to think. Having them all in a room together brings a lot of noise, and somehow a lot of laughter too. The volume jumps from twenty to three hundred the second Thor is introduced to a room.

This is nice. This is quiet. It's the thirty-second night they've spent out here. For the first time in thirty two nights, Tony Stark looks over at him and asks, "What was he like?"

Steve doesn't respond at first. He knows exactly who Tony is talking about, without even asking. Howard Stark. They don't talk about it, ever. He's seen more than once the way Tony's face turns to stone when his father is introduced to a conversation. There's anger there, Steve knows it, and sadness. There's so much he can say. Eight months of working with Howard to defeat HYDRA saw him spending a lot of time with the man. Still, though, they weren't ever really friends. Just coworkers. He thinks of the others from his life before. Peggy, the one he never got to dance with, or Erskine, the man who died so that Captain America may live. Bucky was, perhaps, the only true friend he had ever known. Certainly the only one he had as Steve Rogers from Brooklyn.

"You still with me, capsicle?" Tony asks, and Steve is forced back to the unforgiving present. He presses his eyes shut, forcing the tears back.

"I'm still here," he replies quietly. "I don't know what you think about your father, Tony, but when I knew him he was a good man."

"Until me."

It doesn't quite sink in, until he looks over, that Tony truly believes that. The realisation slams him back, presses down on his chest until it aches. "Tony. It wasn't you. You have to know that. This wasn't ever about you."

"I thought everything was about me," the billionaire says dryly.

"Not this time," Steve murmurs, only loud enough to be heard. The air holds still, as though waiting for him to speak. "Your father was a good man. A brilliant man. I, uh, I wasn't like this the first time I saw him. Still just that little guy from Brooklyn, standing in the crowd at a Stark Expo."

They stay like that. Out in the cool night breeze, under the moonlight, talking about Howard Stark. Tony listens intently to every word, never opening his mouth. Hours pass. Steve runs out of stories, but he doesn't stop talking. There's a lot the Avengers don't know about his life. A lot of things that didn't make it into the books or to SHIELD's references.

It's perhaps the longest silence Steve has ever witnessed Tony Stark maintain, and it feels strange to see it now. A wave of nostalgia washes over him as he remembers the day Howard Stark handed him a shield and told him it was made of vibranium. "I wish you'd been standing in my place back then. You would've liked him. You aren't as different as you think."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Tony snaps, abruptly on his feet, back turned. Steve watches him walk to the glass and lean against it. They fall into silence, and something a lot like sadness rattles around in the soldier's chest. He rises to his feet and walks to Tony's side.

"When we first met, I thought a lot of things about you. I was wrong. About all of it. You proved us wrong, Tony. Maybe you don't see that, but we're going to keep telling you until you finally get it through your head that we believe in you. That trick you pull in front of the rest of the world, it won't work on us. We're your family."

A long, dry laugh escapes Tony's lips. "Is that what we are? A family?"

"You think any of us had families, Stark? Look around you. Barton only started living the day his parents stopped. Natasha was a spy before she was a person. Bruce cut himself off from the world just to protect it. And Thor...well, we saw firsthand what his family can do. Yes, we are all messed up. We all have problems, and we all make mistakes, but this? This is the family we never got to have."

Tony glances up. The walls built up around him fracture, slowly but steadily. Little hints of humanity flicker through the cracks. He shakes his head, sadness in his eyes. "I don't believe in family."

"Well," Steve says, "now might be a good time to start, because we believe in you. I see the way you get when people talk about your father. That mask you wear is good, but it doesn't fool us. I know that people change, I've seen them do it right before my eyes."

The unsaid words, the 'I've seen you change' hangs in the air. Tony doesn't acknowledge any of it. He just stands there, breaking apart and trying desperately to hold the pieces together.

"Howard Stark is not you," Cap continues, "and you're not him. But there is so much of him in you. It would be an awful thing to go through your life thinking that there was nothing good about him."

Steve catches him as he tries to escape, gripping tightly at the arm beneath his hand. The muscles tense under his palm, and Steve murmurs, "It would be worse to go through your life thinking there is nothing good in you."

"The only good thing in me is this!" Tony shouts. He jabs a finger at the arc reactor, still humming and still glowing beneath his t-shirt. "If it weren't for this thing, I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be an Avenger, and I wouldn't be a part of this family. Call it whatever you want, Rogers, we're only here because of what we can do. There's nothing good about me but this thing."

"And everything special about me came out of a bottle. Isn't that right?" The grip tightens. There's going to be a bruise there, they both know it, but Steve doesn't release him. "Isn't that right!"

"What the hell do you want me to say? That I was wrong about you? Fine! I was wrong, Rogers! You are more than the serum, more than some experiment! You're a superhero!"

"And you're more than a vessel for the glowing machine in your chest," Steve tells him in a level tone. "You are more than Howard Stark's son. You're Iron Man, you're Tony Stark. Without you, there would be a nuke sized hole in New York, millions of lives would be lost. That wasn't the arc reactor that flew through that portal, Tony, it was you. Your choice. To lay down on the wire."

Tony looks at him, brown eyes wavering and glassy, and barely able to keep a hold on the war tearing his insides apart. He deflates. Right there in front of Steve's eyes, he turns to nothing. Just stands, limp, like all the heart in him is gone. "Well, I guess we were both wrong about each other."

Moonlight dances on their faces. The arc reactor hums, glows like starlight. Steve rests his hand on Tony's shoulders, and they almost manage to smile at each other.

"So," Tony quips, "what does that make us? One big, mad family? Cause I don't know about you, but I don't think Fury would like to be called mum. And I'm definitely not playing older brother when Natasha brings her first boyfriend home. Don't families bicker, anyway? What good will we be in a fight against the rest of the universe if we're too busy pulling each other's pigtails?"

Steve laughs. It's nice to be happy. To have friends like he's made here, that aren't going to get left behind. To have a family that will stand alongside him and fight with him.

"I'm sure we'll think of something," he tells Tony. "That's what families do."

* * *

_It's amazing how quickly these two devolve into shouting at each other when I'm writing them. But...this was carthatic._


	2. Bruce Banner

They fall in through the door, landing in a heap of laughing, squirming superheroes. Bruce, who has apparently drawn the perpetually short stick for the day, is on the bottom of the pile. Thor's knee is jabbing him in the spine, and he's ninety percent certain that's Natasha's fingers on his shoulder. Thor's not a light guy, and he struggles to free himself. They roll off, collapsing onto the cold tiles in fits of laughter.

"What the hell are you three laughin' about?" Clint asks, rubbing his eyes. "I'm tryin' to sleep here."

"It's four in the afternoon," Bruce points out, at the same time Natasha says, "Thor punched a photographer through a tree."

The three of them meet each other's eyes again, and soon they're back to the laughing. Bruce is quickly clutching his stomach and wheezing for air, yet somehow still uncontrollably giggling. Thor claps the floor with one hand, and laughs harder.

"I do not understand Midgardian traditions," the Asgardian says, once he's finally managed to control himself. "Do your people often attack each other with strange flashing devices? They were most rude to Brother Banner."

"They're paparazzi, Thor," Bruce tells him, careful to take deep breaths before he goes into cardiac arrest. "The flashing things are called cameras."

"Why would your kin attack you with these cameras?"

Natasha's face becomes stony, and she sighs. "They know about the Other Guy now. I'm sorry, Bruce."

Bruce shrugs, lifts himself up and then falls into a recliner. "It was going to happen eventually, right? People were going to know my face sooner or later. Besides, you nearly killed the camera guy with your coffee. You don't have to apologise."

"I did not intervene until that man called you monster," Thor says, proudly, preening at his chest and puffing it out. "I was most restrained in my effort."

"And I appreciate that, Thor. I really do," he says, chuckling.

"You are no monster, my friend. It was unjust of him to call you such," Thor replies.

"Throwing my coffee at him was the least of a long list of things I had in mind," Natasha confirms.

"You didn't do the thigh thing, did you? You know Coulson hates it when you do that in public."

Tasha hits Clint on the shoulder, then gives him a severe look that somehow still manages to look warm. She's an interesting woman, Natasha. Devastating to anyone who gets in her way, yet devastatingly loyal to her closest friends. That he is now a part of that list is frightening and extremely humbling at the same time.

It'd been a close thing. All those flashing lights, people shouting and hurling insults. The Other Guy had roared within him, clawing at his insides for a way to take control. It'd taken everything, every ounce of his restraint, to maintain the driver's seat. If Thor hadn't been there, if Natasha hadn't been there, what would have happened? The Hulk could have killed hundreds of people before Bruce reined him in.

A hand rests on his shoulder, snapping him from the morbidity of his thoughts. Thor peers down at him. "Banner. Know that we, as your kin, shall endeavour to keep you safe from this new threat."

It's perhaps the kindest, most heartfelt thing anyone has ever said to him. Tears prick at his eyes, and he chuckles. "Thanks, Thor. I appreciate you guys sticking up for me today. But...you won't always be there to make sure I don't hurt someone. I think it's time I left."

Clint jerks up, on his feet and rounding on Bruce in the blink of an eye. "Not a chance. No. You aren't going anywhere."

"I'm more use there. The five of you can handle anything thrown at you. You don't need me."

A hand closes on his wrist, tight, and Clint narrows in on him. "You think we would've come out the backend of Loki's war without Hulk there? We would've been pulp, and there wouldn't be any safe place for you to run back to. We need him here. Bruce, we need you here. You're a part of this family now, you're not walking away just because someone shoved a camera in your face."

The Other Guy huffs, but quietens down at the notion of being needed. A warmth ebbs into his blood, and he smiles absent-mindedly. Hulk likes it here. Not leave.

"Indeed, Brother Banner, you are one of us!" Thor claps him on the back, hard enough to leave a red handprint. The Other Guy likes Thor. Whenever the asgardian smacks him in that friendly manner, Hulk just grunts in contentment.

In fact, strange as it seems, The Other Guy likes them all. Would save all their lives if the need arose. It's madness, crazy as a bag of cats, with insanity sprinkled on top, that the six of them make such perfect sense as a family. And here they are, making it work, talking him back off the plane to the ass-end of nowhere.

"Well," he mutters, "I don't really know if I could say no to that."

"Good, because I'd hate to have to tie you up," Clint comments brusquely, releasing Bruce's wrist and crossing his arms. "If you try to leave, we are all coming after you. Remember that."

Tony burst in through the door then, tablet in hand, waving it madly, "Who punched the cameraman? Seriously, guys, Fury is convinced it was me, and he's sent Coulson to arrest me!"

Coulson follows him in. The agent rolls his eyes as Tony dashes away and hides behind Thor. "I'm not here to arrest you. I came to check that you are all okay. SHIELD has dealt with the PR side of things. Natasha?"

Wordlessly, she hands over the cameraman's SD card. Coulson slides it into his pocket. He's about to leave when they wrangle him back and hand him pizza and beer. Thor is trying to shove the entire piece of pizza down his throat in one go, Bruce realises with a laugh. When he's succeeded, he begins ranting about the lack of Asgardian feasts. Natasha and Clint are arguing about anchovies. Any second now, Clint is going to throw one at her, Bruce can feel it. There's an ever-present smirk on Tony's face, and he's chatting to Phil about the Mark 10 prototype suit.

Steve bustles in with another pizza, and as he passes Bruce he squeezes the doctor's shoulder. "Good to see you're still with us, doctor Banner."

Bruce grins at them all, swallows his mouthful of pizza, and thinks Where would I go when I already have all this?


	3. Tony & Natasha

Tony is in his lab, hunched over a prototype weapon for the Mark 10, when Jarvis' voice fills the room. "Sir, my pattern recognition systems have detected a possible threat to the security of the tower and its occupants."

His head pops up from the prototype, and he frowns. "What kind of s-You know what, just show me."

A video feed, date-stamped to three hours ago, pops up on one of the unused monitors. Tony watches, uninterested, as a man dawdles into the frame. His plain hoodie obstructs most of his face, and he seems not to know the camera is there. They're Stark Tech, so Tony isn't surprised this guy hasn't seen the tiny surveillance device. He doesn't move from the frame, just stands there an rocks back and forth. Tony knows the area, and he knows that the direction this guy is looking shows the base level of the tower.

He's watching the entrance.

"It's just a guy, Jarvis," Tony murmurs, attention moving back to his work. "I'm sure it's nothing."

_"Sir_," says the AI, more insistently this time, and Tony's attention catches on the inflection. Then he's watching, stomach slowly twisting, as video feeds pop up on the screens. More and more appear, until he's looking at almost thirty different frames. Every one of them has the same guy on different days, just standing there and watching. Jarvis, quietly, adds, "This is a regular occurrence."

"Well he hasn't done anything, has he? No point in worrying if he's just going to stand there. He won't get in the front door, and I'm sure even I could handle one guy. If not, you have permission to call in any of the other five superheroes in this building."

Jarvis is silent for a moment. Tony waits for him, and is about to provoke a response when the AI says, "I cannot be certain, sir, but I believe this to be the same individual. He is of the same height."

A new feed appears, over all the others. The guy has his back turned, now, but Tony's pretty certain it is the same man. This time, however, he's talking to someone whose face is out of frame. They look like they are simply talking, but something begins to knot Tony's insides. The person out of frame steps closer, into the stranger's personal space, and tries to touch his face. For a second, nothing happens. Then the guy lifts one hand and socks the out-of-framer in the face. It's _hard_, and the force sends the victim sprawling. They hit the pavement with such severity Tony winces at the sight. The stranger kicks, hitting the victim's stomach without restraint.

And, with a start, Tony realises he knows the victim. "Jarvis, tell me that isn't-"

"I'm afraid so, sir," Jarvis says, and now there is a definite strain of sadness in his voice. "It is, indeed, Clint Barton."

"Why the hell didn't he mention this to us?" Tony asks, and maybe there should be more words, but as he watches they simply fade from his mind. Clint is trying to climb to his feet, trying to beg with the stranger, and getting kicked every time he opens his mouth.

Tony's blood is _boiling_. His entire body feels like it's been dipped in molten lava. "Jarvis, find out who he is. I don't care what you have to hack, get me his name. Find out where he lives. And prepare the Mark 8 for flight."

"Sir, I don't think is wise. I suggest calling Miss Romanova. She may be able to shed more light u-"

"The situation has enough light," Tony snaps. "Call Steve."

"Very well, sir," Jarvis says.

The phone rings eight times, and then Steve says, "_Tony? Is everything alright?_"

"Are you with Barton?"

"_Yeah, we're getting lunch with Phil and Bruce. Why?"_

"Don't let him out of your sight. You stay with him until I tell you otherwise."

There's a moment of silence, and Tony can just hear Steve's muffled voice as he excuses himself. Then, louder, "_Tony, what's going on?_"

"Just stay with him, Rogers. I don't care what excuses you use."

Steve starts to protest, but Tony just hangs up. The Mark 8 is quickly attached to him, and as Iron Man, he flexes beneath the suit. "Jarvis, tell me you've found him."

While he waits for Jarvis, he thinks back to their mission yesterday. The amount of effort it must've taken to hide his injuries...Clint didn't even _wince,_ not once. Again, anger burns through Tony.

"Sir, his name is John Beckett. The address is being patched into the suit now."

"Call Natasha," he tells the AI as he activates the suit's guidance systems.

"_Stark?_" Natasha says, picking up after only the first ring. "_Are you in the suit? We don't have a current op, what do you think you're doing?"_

"Where are you?" He says, pushing the suit faster as he breaks out into open air.

"_I'm at SHIELD's headquarters."_

Tony pauses, mapping out the route on the HUD. "I'm sending you an address. Meet me there. _Now_."

"_I'm a little busy,"_ she tells him, clearly annoyed even through the phone.

"It's about Clint."

The line goes quiet. Tony thinks maybe she's just hung up on him. Then she says, "_I'll be there in two minutes."_

Tony gets there first. He sets down as inconspicuously as he can. It's a quiet part of the city, near the outskirts, and there are no people about. Luckily for him. If Fury found out about this little outing, there'd be the hell to pay. Bringing in Natasha was a necessary evil; if he went without her, she'd kill him for not letting her tag along.

Her car sped around the corner thirty seconds before she'd said it would, and pulls up against the curb. The door slams, and she rounds on him angrily. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm asking you to come inside and speak to this guy with me," he says, using the suit to patch through the feed of Clint being beaten. "You and I are going to have a nice, long chat with him."

For a moment, her face is as red as her hair. Tony swears her eyes blaze. It's a fearsome sight. When she looks up, there's recognition in her eyes. "Beckett."

"You _know_ this guy?"

"Who do you think forced Clint to walk away from him the first time?" she snaps. "They were dating for about a year, up until last month."

It doesn't surprise him, knowing Clint bats for the other team. The guy looks at Coulson with _stars_ in his eyes. That's not why he's angry. No, he's _pissed_ because Clint stood by and let this bastard spawn get the better of him. Even in close quarters, Clint is deadly - almost deadlier than Natasha. He could've _fought back_.

"No, he couldn't," Natasha says quietly, because yeah, he may have said that last bit out loud. "Because he loves Beckett. And he's...it's complicated. Let's go. Are you going to wear the suit?"

"I don't play fair with people like him," he tells her tersely. "Besides, I was thinking he might like to take a ride with me."

And damn, Tasha can look murderous when she wants to, even with a _smile._ He's certainly not getting any complaints out of her about his choices. They stride up to the door together. He punches the lock in. Natasha is unarmed, but he knows better than to think she's harmless without her guns. Together, they edge into the apartment. She gestures at the bedroom, then splits away for the hallway.

Tony finds him on the bed, passed out. Doesn't even wake up to the sound of the suit whirring. Doesn't wake up until he's lifted out of bed by his throat and thrown into the wall. It craters under the pressure, and a slick feeling of satisfaction pulls at Tony's stomach. Natasha enters the room, perfectly calm and collected. "I warned you, Beckett."

"If your friend wants something from me he isn't getting from you, I'm more than happy to give it to him. You don't tell me what to do, bitch."

Tony's blood absolutely _ignites_. Like it's burning holes in his skin. Natasha's got first pickings though. Her foot connects with Beckett's face. His nose - possibly his skull - cracks.

"You wanna bet?" she asks, readying a fist. Tony, however, has seen enough. One hand closes over Beckett, and he goes straight up through the roof. The ceiling shatters, and they emerge into daylight.

"So, bucko, you wanna call me a bitch too?" he asks.

"Let me go!"

Tony sneers at him, "Oh, don't tempt me. I'd love nothing more. So, here's what you are going to do. You are going to leave this town. Drive until you see mountains and then keep driving. And if you _ever_ come near my family again, I _will drop you_. You get me? _Do you get me?_"

"Okay, okay, I get you! Just take me back!"

They drop back through the same hole. He throws Beckett at Natasha. "You want the last say, Miss Romanova?"

Her lips curl into a dark, dangerous smile. As he turns and walks out, the screams follow him. Tony hopes Natasha kills him. Finishes him off, for Clint. Because Barton doesn't deserve to be treated like that. Another flourish of anger attacks him. His _family _was hurt by this asshole. He should go back in there and end it himself.

Natasha emerges. Blood stains her knuckles, and she's sheathing a small, covert knife back into its hiding place. Her face is unreadable, as always. "Do we tell Clint?"

"You're damn right we tell him. He was trying to get closer to that..._yes_. We tell him. I'll meet you back at the tower."

When he's in the doorway, she calls his name. His eyes meet hers, and she smiles with an unfamiliar warmth. "Thank you."

"Always," he replies.

They meet up with Clint back at the mansion, after Tony has shed the Mark 8 and Natasha has scrubbed the blood from her bruised knuckles. Clint knows the second he walks in, Steve and Bruce at his sides, that something has changed.

"You should have told me he was back," Natasha scolds. Tony stays quiet, as much as it pains him.

Clint narrows his eyes. "It's none of your business."

"None of our business?" Tony says, ignoring the confusion on the other faces in the room. He's just too _angry_ to bother with explanations. "Damnit, Barton, you are one of us. Someone treats you like shit, you fight back! And if you can't do it yourself you come to us. That's what family is for. That's what we do for each other, because we care about things like this. I don't know what the hell kind of spell you're under, but you had better _snap out of it_. You are worth more than that, worth more than a punching bag for some asshole who thinks he's big and tough. You are worth more than someone bruising you and treating you like you don't matter because _I promise you_, you do."

There's not a face in the room that doesn't look startled by that. Tony realises, belatedly, that his hand is on Clint's shoulder. The archer is staring back at him in shock. Maybe he'll take a swing, Tony considers. But the look begins to fade, and Clint just smiles and places his hand on Tony's shoulder.

That is, somehow, how they end up in the lounge room curled up on one couch. Tony's arm is slung around Clint, his other hand resting on Thor's knee. Natasha is tucked in an impossibly small space between Clint and Bruce. Clint is rubbing the marks on Tasha's knuckles, and there are tears in his eyes but he doesn't look sad. He just looks content. Steve, who is on the other side of Thor, touches Tony's shoulder. They share a look over the back of Thor's head. And he knows, immediately, that Steve is thinking of their conversation the other night. About family. And yeah, he gets it now. That tug in his heart that's telling him to stand like a guard dog over Clint until he's _certain_ nothing will ever hurt the archer ever again. He'd never known it before, this feeling, because he's never had it before.

This is _family._

* * *

_Thank you for reading, and to all of those who have reviewed._


	4. Thor

_ I had so much trouble with writing this. It started as Clint's chapter, then I gave up and tried writing Natasha's. Then I got pissed off and gave up. But I need something to read at my writer's group tomorrow so I had to get my ass into gear. This happened. I don't like it, but here we are._

* * *

There are days when the others think Thor might finally snap. Days when they think _today_ Thor will get up, take off in the fastest car and wind up standing at the Bifrost site in New Mexico _screaming_ at Heimdall. Screaming at Loki, and at Odin. Tearing his throat to shreds shouting until the gateway opens up and swallows him whole. Some days, even Thor himself begins to think it. He waits, as he has become so good at doing, for the day this fragile life breaks and everything comes crashing down.

Natasha is the one who catches him. That flaming red hair glows under the dim lights, and she sits down wordlessly at his side to watch stars. Thor knows better than to talk; to tell her of Asgard or the Nine realms. What care does she have for Yggdrasil? _None_.

He wonders what she looks for in the stars. When he stares up and maps out Asgard in the constellations, what does she look for?

"He is still my brother," he tells her, because she is there and because it has eaten away at his soul until there is so very little left. "I know the terrible things he has done. The lives he has ended. But there was good in him once. I saw it."

Pausing, he draws upon his fondest memories of Loki. Lets them dance in his mind, play a fool of his heart. And then he closes them out and whispers, "Did I not?"

The flame-haired woman purses her lips; thinks back to the helicarrier. Allows Loki's voice to echo through her mind. _Your ledger is dripping, it's gushing red_. She stares at the sky, remembers standing in the midst of a thousand nuclear missiles and watching her closest ally threaten to end her life. The Dreadnought destroyed, Ivan dead, and sometimes she still hears his voice in her head. "People aren't always who we think they are."

"There was," he says. Resolute now, utterly believing the words. "There was good in him. And we tore at it and beat it from him until there was nothing left. Whatever cruelties my brother has inflicted, it is I who have caused them. It is I who did not see my brother's heart breaking. I who stood by and did nothing as he was driven mad."

"You aren't the only one responsible for terrible things," Natasha tells him. Her fingers curl against her palm, her mind steeled against the memories that try to clamber in and nest there. "You aren't the first and you won't be the last."

The asgardian frowns at her. Perhaps...perhaps he had expected false pretences. Expected to be told that none of this was his fault. Natasha sees the furrow in his brow and her lips twitch. "Did you want me to lie?"

"No." His fingernails dig into his palm, curl longingly around Mjolnir. "No, I would have the truth. Better to realise mistakes made than to deny them."

"What happened to Loki? After you took him to Asgard?"

The change draws over Thor with frightening speed. Natasha's eyes, carefully trained, pick up on the tension that glides up through his body. His breath hitches in his throat. Tears brim in his eyes. Then, suddenly, he _roars_. One mighty arm hurls through two inch thick plate glass, and shards explode into the air. A harsh wind bites through the exposed side of the mansion.

Their eyes meet, the outburst already forgotten, and he shakes his head brokenly. It is Steve who bursts into the room, wearing his pyjamas but dutifully bearing his shield. Quickly, he assesses the room and the situation. "What's going on?"

"I apologise," Thor says quietly. "It is I who caused the disturbance. I was not myself."

Steve glances at Natasha, wordlessly asking _Are you alright_? and earning a nod.

"Whatever you have done in the past," she pauses, haltingly catching her breath, "whatever wrongs you believe you led Loki to, they are not what define you. We each have our demons, but they are behind us now."

Rising, she leads Steve from the room. Thor falls to the ground, amongst the shattered glass and cold, harsh wind. If he can see Asgard now, hear Heimdall whispering in his thoughts, it is but an imagined comfort. "Brother. Please, forgive me."

There's a crash, a bang, and then Thor is staring at a sheepish Clint Barton and the powdery remains of the ceiling vent. Hawkeye clambers to his feet and scratches his ear. "So, uh, couldn't help but overhear."

"Because you spied upon us?" Thor snaps.

"Occupational requirement," he retorts.

"What is it you want?"

"To tell you to get your head out of the stars. Damnit, you're one of us, Thor. Which means you screw up and you don't always get it right. It means sometimes you know the right thing to do and you run like hell in the opposite direction anyway. But we accepted that about each other a long time ago. Tony gave me the kick up the ass I needed, so now it's my turn. Loki screwed up, not you. _Loki_. Whatever you think you did to turn your brother dark side - hell, maybe you did, we just don't know - that is still on him."

"This comes from a man who would welcome the hand raised against him!" Thor shouts. The insult echoes through the room, over the howling wind. The moment Thor hears his own words he despises himself for them.

Clint pales. His hands fall limply to his sides, flex once and then drop. He laughs dryly as his head dips. "Gee, Thor, tell us how you really feel."

"That was r..."

"No. No, you're right. I let my past fuck with my head. People treat you like a punching bag long enough you start to think that's all you are. At least _I_ realised I was wrong. You have a chance here, just like the rest of us, to have a place where you belong. If you let your past fuck that up, the only person you have to blame is yourself."

"I should not have said that," Thor says, head bowed.

"No. You shouldn't have. But we all say things we regret when we're pissed. So, I'll forgive you for it anyway."

"Do you believe what Stark says of us? That this is a family?" Thor asks him.

Hawkeye shrugs, and as his shirt twists Thor catches a glimpse of yellowed bruises scrawled up his side and across his chest. To see them, as proof of Barton's suffering, sends flares of anger bursting up through his body. Clint catches him looking and says, "There'd be more if it weren't for the Avengers. Worse, too. And..in the end, that's what family should be. The people who stand up and tell you to stop fucking around, but are still there to catch you when you're falling down. Do I think this is a family? Maybe not, but it's the closest I might ever come. So hell if I'm letting it go."

Thor considers this, then nods. "You are wise."

"I am a bit," Hawkeye says, grinning from ear to ear. "So you are going to get your ass downstairs and let me cook you pancakes. And you're going to put this nonsense to rest once and for all."

"It it night," he says. "The time for breakfast foods is not yet here."

"Thor," Clint says, clapping him on the shoulder lovingly, "buddy, there is _always_ time for breakfast foods."

* * *

_Thanks for reading._


End file.
